


Poor Heart

by MatchaMochi



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Kinda, M/M, Skater! Viktor, a bit - Freeform, a bit of angst in this, ahem, based on a manga ive read before, but theres a talking flower in it so, florist!yuuri, forgot the title am so sorry, in which god messes around sometimes, in which they r so smitten wow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-21 23:51:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9572327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MatchaMochi/pseuds/MatchaMochi
Summary: Viktor stands up, he stretches his arms and groans when he remembers his training and Yakov’s no doubt loud reprimand for drinking out last night. Viktor stalks to the kitchen and pulls out a glass and fills it with water from the sink. Viktor chugs it, wanders down the cupboards to give Makkachin his food. Viktor stares at the flower on the table. Viktor pulls out a cereal box, a bowl, milk and spoon from the recesses of the cupboard above him. Viktor stares at the flower on the table. Viktor takes the glass of water and drinks it again, blinks, and wipes his eyes from sleep.Viktor…..stares at the flower on the table.“What the fuck.”“Language.”“What the FUCK.”or in which Yuuri is actually a talking hydrangea.





	

**Author's Note:**

> College starts this monday woohoo! so im squeezing out this litl viktuuri one shot just as a little fuk u! to my projects and work from college HAH anyway, we need more florist AU?? just sayin man,  
> Yuna's Poor heart and SU's Whats the use of feeling blue? was on repeat when I was typing this.

The blue mixes well with the purples. Whites at the centre turning into a beautiful gradient of soft blue and softer purple. The flower all clustered together in a plain brown pot. The hydrangea stares at him balefully, and Viktor couldn’t help but take pity of it, sitting at the side of the road like that.

Even in his intoxicated state, white shirt slipping off, jacket thrown to the wind, cheeks red with the bitingly cold winds of autumn, he stoops down and strokes the petals of the flower. Viktor, breath stinking of liquor and body aching for the warm embrace of a nice bath, looks up to the closed sign of the florist before smiling at the name engraved at the top.

‘ _Yuri no Hana’_

He frowns and stares back at the flower, back again at the shop, then to the flower. Tries to say it out loud, his tongue stumbling over the vowel because of the ten or so vodka bottles he’d inhaled,

“ _Yuuuuuuuuri….”_

He coos down at the flower, picking it up and turning it around, “ _Ah….why are you outside of the shop?!”_

Viktor stumbles to the door, knocks it a few times shouting Yuuri’s name before it even occurred to him that maybe, the owner simply wasn’t present. He pouts, hugs the flower and makes a decision.

He stumbles down the road, heading to his apartment. In his arms the flower petals sways to the side, frowning.

“ _It’s alright, pretty little thing. You can just stay at my place and I’ll give you back tomorrow!!”_

Viktor blood rushes like a waterfall down his ears when he’s drunk, he tends to shout a lot and laugh ten times louder. The resigned sigh he catches in his arms though, that one, he isn’t sure if that one was him.

-

-

-

Sunlight stabs him through the space at the window that isn’t covered by the curtains. Viktor groans and rolls to his side, clutching his pounding head. He wills the insistent banging in his mind away, and tries to bury himself in the sofa.

His phone rings. A brown poodle noses at his back, begging for food. Viktor sighs.

“Alright, alright,”

He sits up, runs his hand through silver locks before groaning and running for the toilet bowl. Makkachin whines beside him after he’s done retching and he shushes him, running his hand through the soft fur, “It’s fine Makka, just a hangover,”

Viktor stands up, he stretches his arms and groans when he remembers his training and Yakov’s no doubt loud reprimand for drinking out last night. Viktor stalks to the kitchen and pulls out a glass and fills it with water from the sink. Viktor chugs it, wanders down the cupboards to give Makkachin his food. Viktor stares at the flower on the table. Viktor pulls out a cereal box, a bowl, milk and spoon from the recesses of the cupboard above him. Viktor stares at the flower at his table. Viktor takes the glass of water and drinks it again, blinks, and wipes his eyes from sleep.

Viktor…..stares at the flower on the table.

“What the fuck.”

“ _Language.”_

_“_ What the _FUCK.”_

He whirls around, eyes wide. Automatically takes the potted plant from the table and is one second away from hurtling it to the intruder in his house when-

_“Put me down, put me down!”_

Viktor freezes. A suggestion pops out in his head. He slowly lowers his hands, its shaking slightly but his head is too so it doesn’t make any difference. The suggestion is not quickly shot down, mainly because when he places the flower gently back on the table he hears a,

“ _Thank you.”_

He shakes his head.

“Y-you…”

Something is whispering in his head, it tells Viktor that that _thing_ on the table is-

“What are- What is this?!”

“ _Please calm down.”_

“You’re talking.”

“ _Yes.”_

“To me.”

“ _Again, yes.”_

Viktor takes another glass of water. This is _ridiculous._ He smiles, forces a laugh out of him, “This is a joke right? Some kind of prank? Come on guys there’s mic in there somewhere right, Yurio? Mila?”

“ _Just me.”_

He glares at the flower, “Shut up,”

“…. _I’m sorry.”_

What even is that? The flower, no, _voice_ sounds sad, guilty even and since when did he feels sorry for inanimate objects?

“It’s fine.”

“ _Not really.”_

Viktor groans out loud, kneads his knuckles at his eyes. “Am I going crazy? Is this because of last night?”

“ _I can tell you why I’m here.”_

Makkachin barks suddenly, his tail wagging behind him as he begs to go outside. He mourns the possibility of having a sane mind when his dog stares at him and says,

“ _I want to go out!”_

Viktor pales, “Makkachin?!”

A laugh rings out, “ _No, it’s just me. I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself,”_

Viktor’s pull on sanity snaps so he ignores the flower on his table, grabs his coat hanging by the door and rushes out with Makkachin in tow for his morning walk.

He also fishes out his phone from his pocket and tells Yakov that he can’t make it to practice today because he’s ‘sick’ (though being sick in the mind surely counts, right?). The cold air in St. Petersburg greets him, he thinks about his routine and his upcoming Grand Prix Finals. Certainly, doesn’t wander off to the florist shop outside his apartment, though the closed sign hanging idly by the door makes him feel a little disappointed.

-

“ _How was your walk?”_

The hope that his impromptu morning was just a delusion vanishes instantly the moment he hears the soft-spoken voice in his kitchen. Makkachin seems to enjoy it, bounces to the kitchen and barking happily at the table, at the _talking hydrangea on his kitchen table._

Viktor breathes in. Breathes out. Sits down on the table and tears open the cereal box he left. Puts milk and the cereal in the empty bowl. “Alright.” He says as he munches, “What is it.”

“ _What is…? I don’t understand.”_

He shoves another spoon full of cereal and milk in his mouth, gulps down before continuing, “What is it you want to tell me? Why are you here?”

“ _Ah, that…”_

The flower’s quiet, for a while. And it voices out again, “ _You…you’re not surprised anymore?”_

Viktor shrugs, craziness is something that’s bound to come to him one way or another, Yakov once said that his head might be a little weird after the concussion he’d had from one of his practices. And speaking of _surprises_ well, this must be the best one yet. He considers it though,

“I…I’m going to get tired ignoring you anyway. This may all just be some hallucination or dream but I might as well…”

“ _…go with it?”_

Viktor nods, tilting the bowl to his mouth, drinking the milk inside.

“ _Alright then, I’ll tell you.”_

A pause then,

_“God sent me.”_

He barely manages not to spit out the milk, chokes on it before thumping his chest as he coughs loudly. He stares down at the flower, blue eyes wary,

“God?”

“ _That’s right.”_

He wrinkles his nose, “So…what do you remember before this?”

“ _Before? Hmmm…. It was dark? Like I was being moved in a really closed spaced place.”_

Viktor rubs his neck before laughing out loud. A dark place? That must be when the flower was shipped in a box to Russia. Speaking of Russia.

“You don’t speak Russian.”

“ _Rus-Russian? Oh. What language am I speaking right now?”_

_“_ It’s English.” He tilts his head, “How come you don’t kno-“

“ _Um, I’m sorry but can I ask you a favour?”_

Viktor raises his eyebrows in surprise with the sudden request but shrugs, “Sure what is it?”

“ _I’m getting very thirsty actually…could you give me a little water please?”_

He gets off the chair and fills a glass with water from the sink, “Why did god sent you here?”

“ _I’m sorry, I’m not sure of the reason but-“_

_“_ Stop apologising.”

“ _Ah, sorry-“_

He gives the flower a pointed look and it quietens. Viktor could almost imagine a child ducking its head down as if being scolded. How does the flower do that anyway? Where are its eyes even?

“ _b-but I’m supposed to help you with something! That I am sure.”_

Viktor frowns, pouring the glass of water on the flower carefully. ‘ _Help?’_ he thinks, as the flower gives him a relieved sigh and some murmured thanks, ‘ _what help am I in need of?’_

He stares at the flower again. A flower from the flower shop outside his apartment. A hydrangea that tells him that he can grant him something he doesn’t have. He contemplates, squishing his cheeks on his hand as he marvels at the beauty of how the sunlight spills over the flower’s petals.

“ _Ah, this is terribly rude of me, but I forgot to ask you your name,”_

He bites his lip, “It’s Viktor.” Then, “What about you?”

“ _I….I don’t have one.”_

Viktor hums. He goes over the brown ceramic pot of the flower, his eyes narrow on a sticker plastered to the side,

‘ _Yuri no Hana’_

He gives out a small smile,

“How about Yuuri?”

-

-

And surprisingly, Viktor _does_ go with it. The five-time gold medallist wakes up, stalks to the kitchen and cooks while he chats with the talking flower. Goes out to walk his dog and to train for the upcoming competitions and comes back to the lilting voice of the beautiful hydrangea on his kitchen table.

The flower shop closes every Mondays and Fridays. Now, it hasn’t opened ever since last Sunday.

And more surprisingly, Viktor finds that he likes it. Likes to wake up and be greeted with Yuuri’s cheerful,

“ _Ohayo!”_

(“Whats that?”

“ _Japanese….I think,”_

_“_ Warming up to your name already?”)

And he likes to go back from another day of gruelling practice with Yuuri’s ‘ _Okaeri!’_ even when Viktor says ‘ _I’m home,’_ in Russian and smiles when he can see the question mark by the flowers enquiring silence.

Yuuri is nice company, he talks about everything with Viktor. Is shy about certain topics but teasing about others. Yuuri gives him honest opinions and laughs along with him as he tells him about his rink mates. Yuuri smells _wonderful_ he finds as he noses on the small petals. He’s smashed out drunk and the potted flower is placed precariously on his stomach with him on the sofa.

Yakov gave them the day off tomorrow so Viktor turns on any rom-coms playing on tv and cracks open all the beer bottles stacked up in his fridge. Yuuri joins him too. (Via snatching him drunkenly from the kitchen table, into his arms).

“ _That actor is very good looking,”_

He squints at the television, face red with alcohol.

“Who him?”

“ _No, the flower next to him,”_

Viktor burrows deeper on his soft blue sofa and hugs the potted plant closer to him, mumbles,

“You know sometimes I don’t know if you’re joking or not,”

He vaguely hears a snort before he slips into slumber.

-

-

-

_The beautiful hydrangea cracks open, soil, and blue-purple petals spilling out from its pot. The ceramic is shattered into pieces, the flower trails down like blood and meat sliced open._

_Viktor looks out from his car window and sighs. At least the shards weren’t sharp enough to pierce through his tyres. He pulls out his sunglasses and flashes the shopkeeper a quick smile, fishes out some money from his wallet,_

‘Sorry about that, how much should I pay for it?’

_He meets soft browns, eyebrows turned down with a frown. The man bites his lip, looks down and Viktor notes how his blue glasses slides down to the tip of his nose. His hands grip the sky blue apron tightly._

_He goes in the shop without another word, bells tinkling inside._

_Viktor is irked but drives on towards his apartment, he doesn’t give any thought about it after._

_What stays on his mind, is how Yuuri’s eyes aren’t quite the plain brown everyone else sees. More like a russet red really._

-

‘ _I made him mad.’_ He realises as he wakes up from the dream, eyes fluttering open, ‘ _I acted like I didn’t care about his flowers at all.’_

Then was this gods’ retribution?

It’s then when he suspects that the heavy weight on top of him isn’t Makkachin’s warm furry body.

This one has smooth skin and is currently peering at him with soft brown eyes and a messy mop of dark hair.

No, not brown. Russet red.

Viktor’s eyes widen and his breath hitches, the hands on Yuuri’s sides accidentally smoothing over Yuuri’s ribs making him shiver. And Yuuri is _naked_ , on his sofa. On _him._

Yuuri is naked and shivering on top of Viktors chest and _Holy-_

_“_ -SHIT!” Viktor gasps out in surprise, frantically crawling away from Yuuri’s very, very naked body blush hitting him when Yuuri gives him a puzzled look.

The guy keeps on surprising him really, his heart is going to give out one of this days.

In other circumstances Viktor, would have welcomed Yuuri’s nudity with enthusiastic glee and a healthy amount of resolved sexual tension but the innocent look Yuuri gives him, throws him off and the absence of one potted flower makes him realises that yes, this _must_ be gods retribution.

“Viktor?”

He scrambles for the blanket laid out over the sofa after it slipped off last night and threw it over Yuuri’s body giving himself a pat in the back when Yuuri takes the sheet gratefully and pulls it closer to himself.

“…thank you..”

He gulps, “Is it still cold?”

“Not really, no.”

“Yuuri.”

“Yes?”

“What. Happened.”

Yuuri looks up at him, confusion hits him making his eyebrows turn down. The frown reminds Viktor of the one Yuuri gave when he accidentally drives into one of his flowers one Sunday afternoon. And he blanches, of all the faces the hydrangea turns into, its _Yuuri._

“I don’t… know,” he faces Viktor and smiles hesitantly, “but I’m not a plant anymore,”

Oh Viktor is aware of _that._ He wants to tell Yuuri that too, and he smirks eyes shining with tease, “And not that bad Yuuri… you have a very fine body!” Viktor tries to hide the shock of having a naked man turning out of nowhere with teasing but his head still spins with the possibility of ‘Am I dreaming?’ to ‘God wants me to _die_ surely,’

The other looks up, and the flustered blush goes straight down from his ears to his neck. Viktor wonders if they go down until his chest. Or lower. Much lower.

“T-thank you.”

Then as an ice-breaker,

“Can I have some water please? I’m thirsty.”

Outside, the winds howl with the coming of winter and St. Petersburg notes down Yuuri’s transformation with a sudden burst of sunshine and an absence of clouds.

-

-

-

Things goes after that, much normal than before, this surprisingly, still surprises Viktor.

His days goes like this now;

Viktor wakes up early, walks quietly to the living room making sure to leave Yuuri to his slumber on the sofa. He places a jug of water and a glass beside Yuuri sleeping figure. (Yuuri can’t eat any food. When he chokes and chokes after they tried eating curry together Viktor’s hearts stops as he shouts Yuuri’s name in worry and is relieved when they figured that in the end, Yuuri is still a hydrangea.)

He cooks breakfast by himself, smiles softly when he hears Yuuri’s mumbled response to the smell of fried omelettes wafting through the apartment. He pulls out breakfast for Makkachin too and somehow, his heart lifts every time his dog emerges in the kitchen, a drowsy Yuuri dragged behind him in tow.

They talk and they smile, they grimace and they are quiet.

Yuuri pulls the blanket to himself and drinks his water. Viktor’s eyes trails down to Yuuri’s clothes, doesn’t know why it makes him happy that the shirts and pants Yuuri wears are all his. When Yuuri squints at him Viktor laughs, and is reminded of blue glasses sliding down to the tip of Yuuri’s nose.

Viktor leaves Yuuri with the tv and his books, though most of them are in Russian. Yuuri doesn’t mind, he watches the English channels and reads the random books from America and the U.K.

Yuuri says ‘ _itterasshai!’_ when Viktor leaves to walk Makkachin and when he heads for the rink. Viktor shouts ‘ _I’ll come back!’_ as he hugs Yuuri and leaves him alone to his apartment.

And it is that too, Viktor is happy, he can tell. Yakov, Mla, Georgi, _Yurio_ can tell it too. He changes his free skate halfway and tells Yakov that he wants to show people about something blooming, about something _beautiful_. Yakov frowns at him.

“Who is it?”

“Who is who?”

“The _beautiful_ one who is it?”

Viktor has a sudden lump in his throat with that question and shrugs it off with a wink. Afterwards he tells Yakov that his free skate will be named ‘ _Hydrangea’_ and he made up about the inspiration behind it, a fake memory of a lost loved one.

Viktor’s heart thumps loudly in his chest.

He does not know why his eyes gets wet when he tells Yakov about ‘Lost loved ones.’

Every time Viktor goes back from practice he drops by the flower shop and his eyes would fall in disappointment as he sees the closed sign and the dust beginning to settle inside. What had ever happened to the real Yuuri? Had god replaced it with the one in his apartment as punishment? Was that even fair?

He would sigh and head to his apartment, his hands rubbing together with the gathering cold that has crept into the city. And when he walks in his apartment with Makkachin’s excited bark and Yuuri’s voice, his heart settles once again, as if confirming that yes, the things he cares about are there with him.

The incidents of him coming home varies, and is different each day. Some days he comes home to Yuuri curled up on the sofa watching television and absorbing it with an intensity that makes him laugh inside or to Yuuri equally absorbed to one of the many novels in English scattered under his bed, (admittedly most of them leans more to romance and……homosexuality.)

Another one, this one he comes home to Yuuri trying out cooking for a change and he finds out that he has a skill for it that far outreaches Viktors. Or to Yuuri trying out ballet stances out of all things, (that one makes him blush and Viktor never lets him live it down for days,). Or to Yuuri gazing down to the flower shop beside their apartment with an unreadable face. Or to Yuuri singing Japanese lullabies to himself, by the window. Or to Yuuri squinting to one of his risqué _Prettyboy_ magazines, (that made both of them blush). Or- or to Yuuri. Just Yuuri.

Yuuri smiling at him with his amazing eyes, his messy black hair and his soft skin that tells him. ‘ _Welcome home!’_

Soon, much sooner than he thought it’d be, Yuuri doesn’t sleep on the sofa anymore. (Viktor wakes him up one night as Yuuri lay shivering, almost violently, on the sofa. He was muttering, a nightmare tearing through his peaceful sleep. He asks him if Yuuri is cold. Yuuri says yes and Viktor offers him his bed. Viktor jokingly offers him his body warmth too but Yuuri also says yes to that so Viktor turns to putty. He melts over as he tucks Yuuri in closely to him, they get closer as the nights goes by and now, Yuuri has his head on his shoulder and they breathe the same air as they slip into slumber together. Occasionally, when Yuuri gasps awake with nightmares Viktor kisses his forehead and shushes him gently. When asked about the nightmares Yuuri shakes his head and only says about how _cold_ it was,)

Then, Viktor wakes up to soft cheeks on him, of warm skin enveloping his own.

He doesn’t know how he became this lucky.

-

Yuuri is just a flower, in the end.

He is reminded of this as Yuuri drinks jugs after jugs of water but the sunken look in his cheeks hadn’t changed no matter how much water he takes in every day. Viktor is reminded of this when Yuuri spies an ad for a ticket to the botanical gardens and exclaimed to Viktor about the possibility that his family might be there. Is reminded when Yuuri looks wistfully down at the flower shop below, the closed sign stubbornly plastered on the window.

On weekends Yuuri pushes the offer of getting out of the apartment, he says he is much comfortable in here and Viktor doesn’t question him.

‘ _If you were a human.’_ Viktor thinks, ‘ _If you were real…’_ he’s angry with himself, after that. Yuuri is perfect, just the way he is.

One night, he kisses Yuuri on the sofa.

After Viktor, had suggested Yuuri try one of the many beer bottles strewn everywhere on the floor. After he looks at Yuuri as he gives out a surprised laugh and a loud exclamation, ‘ _It’s bubbly!’_

He dives in, stares at russet red before closing his mouth over Yuuri’s. Yuuri freezes first before kissing back. The apartment is dark, and the living room feels heated. Someone gasps and a quiet moan is heard. They kiss and kiss, tongues dancing, breaths mingling, skin that feels scorching every time they brush together.

They kiss and this is what Viktor remembers; Yuuri’s eyes as he pecks at them, widening, Yuuri’s nose as he bites it, reddening, Yuuri’s voice, moans, mewls, as he leaves marks at his collarbones, at his nape, licking his ear, at that one spot between shoulder and neck, addictive and makes Yuuri’s nails scratch at his back. And lastly, Yuuri’s smell, the smell of flowers.

Viktor drowns in it as he closes his eyes to Yuuri’s soft smile.

-

-

-

Yuuri collapses, one day. And the way he claws at his neck, the way he gasps for air like a fish out of water makes Viktor think,

‘ _Yuuri is dying.’_

He rushes at Yuuri’s side, panic making his hands shaking and his back tremble,

“Yuuri? _Yuuri?!_ ” He holds on to Yuuri for dear life, buries his head into his chest as tears springs out of Yuuri’s eyes and he cries out in pain, as he rasps at Viktor about how _cold it is._ Viktor strokes his back, right hand scrambling for his phone to call the ambulance-

And, Yuuri just stops.

Viktor is crying too, he had not realise this. His cheeks are wet, and the drops falls from his face to Yuuri’s hair.

Yuuri opened his eyes slowly, after clenching them so tight. He evens out his breathing. He is trembling, they both are. Russet red meets azure blue. Yuuri reaches his hand out, and this one, this one is steady, betraying the snowstorm that is his laboured breathing and his thundering veins. His hand reaches out and warmth blooms at Viktor’s cheek, fingers brushing away the tears gently, tenderly. Yuuri stares at him desperately and says,

“ _I remember now. I’m sorry, Vitya,”_

A shaky smile,

“ _Thank you for looking after me.”_

Viktor is left staring at nothing. His arms empty except for the blue and purple petals of Hydrangeas covering the floor where Yuuri was. Where Yuuri _should have been._

“Yuuri?” he croaks out.

“Yuuri!” he shouts, distraught.

He shakes his head, hands brushing off the petals, the smell of the hydrangeas sickening to him now. He searches for anything, anything that has a remnant of the Yuuri he once knew all the while muttering, “ _Yuuri, please don’t do this. Yuuri come back please-“_

Viktor is close, so close to breaking down when God comes knocking at his door.

He suddenly realises how loud his breathing was, how everything has quieted, muted to a deafening silence. The footsteps that approaches him sounded like the death toll of a resounding bell.

Viktor’s veins turn to ice as he sees the figure striding to the kitchen,

“F-father? Wh-no….no your _dea_ -“

“I,” his father says, looks at him like how he had always looked at him, pure disdain, “am god.”

“God.” He parrots.

His father nods, brushing off the fake lint at his shoulder, tapping his cane, the sound making Viktor flinch, “This is merely an image of the thing you fear most.”

Viktor shakes, glares at god, “Why did you this? What were you trying to achieve?”

Viktor’s father sighs at him, an adult tired of how slow this child can be, “Viktor, there is no meaning to it, he just caught my eye.”

He snarls at god, “ _Give him back-“_

God laughs at him and offers a smile that shows all his teeth, “Should I? But then your wish wouldn’t be granted then,”

Viktor stares at him.

‘ _My wish?’_

_“b-but I’m supposed to help you with something! That I am sure.”_

_‘Oh.’_

‘ _What is my wish?’_

Viktor is hit with the fragrant smell of flowers, and from them he remembers Yuuri. Sweet, dangerous, _lively_ Yuuri. Yuuri that greets him home every day, Yuuri that smiles at him and the Yuuri that Viktor meet where he is.

‘ _I…’_

He looks up at god, and his father smiles at him but it’s nothing like the tormentor of his childhood,

“ _I want to be a flower.”_ He whispers, “ _I want to be with him.”_ He cries.

‘ _Forever.’_

His father gives him a stern look, barks at him and points to his right.

-

-

_Tomorrow, Monday looms at Yuuri and he gives out a relieved sigh as he finally finishes arranging the last batch of flowers. The temperature is set low because he’s closing shop and the flowers doesn’t take well if the temperatures isn’t the same as the outsides winter._

_Yuuri had never gotten used to the bitingly cold winters of Russia though, he’d always have to wear extra layers just to go out and grab the groceries._

_He turns around after shifting the flowers, boots wet, hands brushing over his apron._

_Yuuri doesn’t see the puddle behind the flowers, doesn’t see the vases on the top shelf.  He slips, and the resounding crash echoes throughout the empty shop._

_His head hurts and he can’t move, the temperature drops and he just feels so, so cold. Yuuri doesn’t know how long he stays like that, his lips became dry and brittle, his body shaking so bad, making ripples under the puddle he slipped in._

_“S-someone..help…”_

_He could barely say it out loud, throat dry and sore._

_He could hear his breathing loud in his ears, he’s panting becoming slower just as someone knocks uncertainly on the door,_

_“Yuuri?”_

_It’s Viktor._

_It’s Viktor and Yuuri’s heart soars with hope. He reaches out, his hands trembling, Viktors name rasping out of him._

_But then there are only footsteps, footsteps walking away from him. Yuuri’s hand collapse, splashing freezing cold water on him and he sobs, back shaking._

_Yuuri blinks and his dead mother stands in front of him._

_“Yuuri.”_

_He is sitting at one corner of the shop, the one beside the roses.  Yuuri blinks at his mom, where his voice fails him he reaches his hand out and is grateful when his mother takes it in return. Smiling softly at him and rubbing her fingers reassuringly at her son’s hand. Warmth spreads from the contact and Yuuri finally finds his voice,_

_“Who are you?”_

_His mother blinks at him in surprise, “How did you know?”_

_He offers her a shy smile, “Mom usually calls me Yuu-chan….”_

_“Ah…” the woman nods, but doesn’t let go of his hand. Yuuri squeezes hers in thanks._

_The woman beams graciously at him and says,_

_“I am god.”_

_“God?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Oh. Okay.”_

_She looks at him sadly then,_

_“Yuuri, you have rejected the company of everyone around you in favour of all these flowers you nurture.” He looks around the shop, the different colours blurring together and making him dizzy. Then he looks at his hands, “Because of this, you have lead an extremely lonely life of your own.”_

_She continues, “It doesn’t matter what happened in your life to bring this about.”_

_Then she shifts and let’s go of his hand slowly, eyes russet red staring at his own that has the same colour, “However at the moment of your death, you clung to life.”_

_Yuuri stares at his mother. Remembers the deep cadence of Viktors voice as it calls his name._

_She was right. Yuuri hadn’t wanted to die, he’d wanted to tell Viktor what had always been stuck at his throat every time Viktor visited his shop. He’d wanted to tell it to him outside when the man accidentally breaks one of his precious hydrangeas, to tell him when Viktor came by the day after to apologise. And the days after that as he came by again and again but Yuuri hadn’t find the courage to approach Viktor and just tell him how beautiful he looks beside his purple-blue hydrangeas._

_She smiles, as if she knows what he’d thought._

_“That’s why, it doesn’t matter what you wanted. Starting now, you’ll forget everything and be born again.” She sighs, ruffles his hair lightly and he pouts in return, “Are people good? Or are you too good for them? You’re so like a flower Yuuri….”_

_“This condition suits you so I’ll make an exception. Just for you.”_

_She stands up suddenly. Yuuri finds that he is unable to move too. God covers her hand over his eyes and says her last piece,_

_“Before this body of yours begins to decay, if you become needed by someone from the bottom of their heart, then I will give your life back to you.”_

_She breathes out, a finality in itself,_

_“And so, good night. And remember what is most important, Yuuri.”_

_Before the darkness envelops him, the sound of Viktor calling his name clings to him, and he doesn’t let it go._

-

“-uuri!”

“ _Yuuri!!”_

He gasps, hands reaching out to find ones that are so much warmer.

“ _Viktor-“_

Viktor smiles down at him, hugging him tightly.

“Viktor…I remembered everything,”

His body is damp, Viktors, are wet with fallen tears.

“I know.” He says. And he tugs on Yuuri’s dark hair and looks at him through shining eyes, “Let’s go home?”

Yuuri sighs in relief.

Around them, his flowers blooms quietly with love.

_-FIN-_

**Author's Note:**

> What did you think? give me your thoughts! :3 and as always, comments and kudos are very appreciated!!!


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